


Turmeric and Ash

by Fuinixe



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Consensual Non-Consent, Consensual Non-Consent gone wrong, Dom/sub, Early Days, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, M/M, No Safeword, Safeword Fail, The trials and tribulations of being born in the 11th century before widespread kink education, Under-negotiated Kink, everything will be okay in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29013339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuinixe/pseuds/Fuinixe
Summary: That one time Joe and Nicky really needed a safeword but did not have one.The benign lead-up, the incident itself, and the morning after.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 24
Kudos: 238





	Turmeric and Ash

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE TAGS and click away if you are worried this might be triggering.
> 
> Note that Joe hurts Nicky _entirely_ by accident in this fic.
> 
> Many thanks to: [SilverCeleb aka Haltiamieli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverCeleb/pseuds/SilverCeleb), for early feedback on this story; the Disaster Immortals server, who encouraged me to Write The Thing; and [Shadowen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen) and [Michelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/side_biddy), for beta-reading.

Nicolò had no way of knowing if the dark thoughts that dwelt in his spirit were the same as those that dwelt in the souls of other men. He knew that all men and women had inherited the sins of Adam and Eve, and all were called to turn away from the desires of the flesh and cleanse their spirits before God. So when he felt his stomach flip at the clench of the blacksmith’s bare bicep, he thought perhaps his friends felt the same way... but perhaps not.

He felt even less certain about other temptations. The first and second time he saw a flagellant in the streets, he was horrified, confused at why somebody would subject himself to the lash of the whip, yet unable to tear his gaze away from the rivulets of blood rising from the man’s bare back. 

The third time, however... He’d awoken with the dawn, attention barely drawn to his customary morning hardness -- it would recede shortly -- when a familiar snapping, thudding sound hit his ears. The flagellants must have been passing by his window, that day. The shadow of a man crossing behind his curtains, the repeated thud of the flogger. Nicolò heard the man grunt in a way that surely meant he was in pain, but the thing it did to Nicolò’s body was most unseemly. His genitals swelled further and throbbed at the sound of that grunt.

There were other moments like that, and Nicolò wanted very much to know if he was alone in his desires.

When his friends would gather and tell whispered stories about creamy breasts and rushed kisses, he never joined in, but only listened carefully, hoping to hear one of them confess something a little different. He didn’t have the words to describe what occupied his thoughts, on the rare occasions he caved in and allowed himself to masturbate; it wasn’t about pain, or not just about pain. There was something violent in his thoughts, but it wasn’t about the violence, precisely. He thought again about the blacksmith, the jut of his bearded chin, the way that he calmly ordered his helpmeet about and thanked him in a kind voice when he was handed his tools --

But no, none of his friends, and none of the other boys in the neighborhood ever seemed to mention an interest in men, much less care for... that other sort of thing. And Nicolò listened carefully. 

* * *

It had taken Nicolò and Yusuf nearly a decade to get over their respective religions’ taboos against sodomy, and Nicolò at least a decade more to let go of any lingering guilt he had after the act was over. 

It was not that he didn’t trust that Yusuf was correct when he claimed that God had surely put them together for a reason. It was not that he didn’t feel the same serenity when his lips met Yusuf’s body, the same surety of purpose and gratitude that of course this perfect man would not rise from the dead at his side if God did not want them to be together. And yes, their bodies felt so good together, and surely that had to be a gift from God, too.

Despite all that, old habits of thought died hard.

Several decades had to pass before Nicolò could truly relish what he and Yusuf had, could relax into their lovemaking and give himself over to sensations without any little voice in the back of his head ever intruding. That night under the stars, he and Yusuf were practicing “using their words,” as Yusuf had put it -- not just practicing the latest language they were learning (Romani), but also practicing giving voice to their desires in ways Nicolò often found a bit embarrassing. Yusuf, in one of his endless displays of generosity, always went first.

“The next time we happen upon a river, my Nicolò,” and Nicolò had already started blushing, for he could guess which way this was going, “and we can scrub ourselves good and clean, I am going to find a soft, grassy hillock, and I will find a side of the hill that is nice and private and faces no roads. I will move away all the stones and sticks so that we have a nice little bed, and I will lay my cloak down upon that grass, and then I will lay _you_ down upon it, flat on your stomach.” Yusuf’s hand stroked over Nicolò’s stomach then, dipping a finger into the curve of his navel, and Nicolò twitched. “Then I will get down between your legs and spread your buttocks and lick your darkest places to my heart’s content. I can’t wait to taste you there again, my love.” 

Nicolò huffed and squirmed a bit, his overworked dick giving a valiant twitch. “You are so good at that, darling,” he murmured in an undertone. “I have never felt the things you make me feel.”

Yusuf gave a possessive little growl and pulled Nicolò’s body closer. “I love to hear you say that, my heart.”

“Yusuf…” Nicolò began, knowing it was his turn to _use his words_ , and wet his lips. “I think next time you take me, I should like you to be a little…” he trailed off, looking for the right Romani word. “A little rough.”

“Oh?” Yusuf asked, and rubbed his nose against Nicolò’s bare shoulder.

“Yes. I, well.” Nicolò coughed. The words were sticking in his throat, but he’d been thinking about this lately. He’d dreamed just the previous night about the time, long ago, before they ceased their fighting, when Yusuf had crept up behind him and strangled him to death. He had woken from the dream with a gasp and a scorching heat crawling over his body, Yusuf merely grumbling and shifting beside him to hitch the blanket back up over their shoulders.

Nicolò pondered sharing his dream with Yusuf. Would he be disturbed? Nicolò knew by now that nothing he could say would make Yusuf recoil from him, but he could still be troubled by the thoughts in Nicolò’s head, could still fret over him. In fact, sometimes Nicolò thought that fretting over him was at least half of what Yusuf ever did.

“I want to tell you something, my heart, but I am afraid it will upset you.” Nicolò switched to their private dialect of Greek-Ligurian-Arabic. “I don’t want you to misunderstand. I don’t want to die.”

Yusuf rolled onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow so he could look at Nicolò’s face. His face was serious, one eyebrow raised, as he studied Nicolò, who reached up to stroke a thumb over that quirked eyebrow. “Tell me, and I will ask you questions, and we will make sense of it together.”

Nicolò nodded and smiled softly. “I had a dream last night, dear one.”

“A good dream or a bad one?”

“Well…” Nicolò trailed off. “That is unclear. It was one of the times you caught me unawares, when we were still new.” Yusuf nodded, unperturbed. They had discussed those early days many times by now. “You choked me from behind, and I perished in your arms.” Nicolò shifted his line of sight from the night sky to Yusuf’s eyes and paused meaningfully.

“Ah, I see.” Yusuf tilted his head to the side. “What part of this memory aroused you? Do you know?”

“Hm. I think…” Nicolò knew by now that if he started with the easier parts, it would make it easier to say the rest. “It was partly your body, warm and pressed against my back. Your breath hot on my ear, your arms wrapped around me.”

“Mm,” Yusuf acknowledged, and kissed him gently. “All good things.”

“Yes.” Nicolò swallowed. “It was partly the sensation of your hands on my throat.” 

Yusuf traced a finger over the Adam's apple of Nicolò’s throat and Nicolò shivered.

“It was…” and this is where he paused for a few moments, not wanting to trouble Yusuf. “I do not want you to worry about me.”

“I will try not to, beloved.”

“It was partly the pain, I think.” 

Instead of squinting in concern, Yusuf’s eyes just looked understanding. “Yes, my heart, that is not uncommon.”

“It is not?”

“No. The human body wants what it wants. Some bodies want a mix of pleasure and pain during intimacy. A couple of the brothels in the ports I visited catered to such desires.”

“Oh,” Nicolò breathed, and felt a wash of relief come over him. “I was not sure… I have had such thoughts for a long time, I think. Since… maybe since I was a boy.” Yusuf nodded. His expression got impossibly gentler. “I thought myself alone. I thought there might be something wrong with me. Above and beyond my inclinations towards men.”

“No, my sweet Nicolò. You are perfect just as you are.” 

Nicolò smiled up at him. “Of course you think that. You’re biased.”

Yusuf scoffed in mock offense. “Biased! No! What an accusation! Is the sheep biased in favor of the flock? Are the crops biased towards the sun? Are the birds biased towards the breeze they sail upon? No, Nicolò, you are just a force of nature, a work of God, and I am not _biased_ , I only recognize you for the miracle that you are.”

“Oh, Yusuf,” Nicolò murmured, awestruck, and reached up and pulled him down by the neck so that they might kiss deeply.

Yusuf drew away after a time and pressed his lips to Nicolò’s forehead, then rested his own against it. “Was there anything else, about your dream, my heart?”

Nicolò pondered. “Besides the pain? Yes. It was...” Nicolò wrapped his hand around Yusuf’s wrist and squeezed it, stroking his thumb back and forth in thought. “It was the feeling of being completely at your mercy. Of…” Nicolò closed his eyes to prevent embarrassment from overtaking him and stealing his speech. “Of knowing that my pain was because you had chosen to give me pain, no other reason, and feeling… at peace with that, feeling… that my body is yours, to do with as you wish. That… if you want me to hurt, I want to hurt. I want to be… owned… by you. Under your control.” 

Nicolò let out a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. Yusuf’s face was still very close to his, enough for his beard to tickle his face. Nicolò could make out that his lips were pressed together, his nostrils flaring wide in a way that Nicolò knew meant either anger or arousal. “Yusuf?” He suddenly needed very badly to be reassured.

Yusuf opened his eyes and lifted his head up enough to meet Nicolò’s eyes again. “Yes, darling. I’m here.” His voice softened. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, dear heart.”

“I am not bothered by your words, Nicolò, far from it.”

Nicolò sighed shakily. “Alright.”

“Thank you for sharing this piece of yourself. I know it is never easy for you to speak of such things.”

“It is getting easier,” Nicolò responded, switching back to Romani. “The more we do this.”

Yusuf grinned. “Excellent. That is the idea. I want to know _everything_ , my dearest, every last little thing about you.” Yusuf moved his mouth closer to Nicolò’s ear and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I want to peel you open like a fruit and consume all your flesh, let the juice of your secrets drip onto my tongue. Swallow you down, one piece at a time.”

“Yusuf,” Nicolò groaned. “You cannot say such things, we are supposed to sleep soon if we want to make any progress tomorrow.”

“And?” Yusuf nibbled the shell of Nicolò’s ear, making a shudder run through his body.

“And... and I won’t be able to s-sleep if you... hngh.”

Yusuf left off with a huff of laughter and a squeeze around his midriff.

* * *

Circumstances intervened such that several months passed before they were in a position to make good on Nicolò’s request. Only a few days after that night, they ran into a poorly prepared caravan traveling in their same direction, a caravan that had been relentlessly harangued by bandits and was in sore need of protection. Yusuf and Nicolò snuck away in the evenings when they could to rub each other off, but there was no privacy for a proper fuck until they had safely escorted the caravan to its destination point.

Nicolò had been acting increasingly absent-minded as they neared their destination, often staring at Yusuf’s hands. When they curled up at night, Nicolò would bring Yusuf’s hand from his midriff where it rested up close to his face so that he could examine it, tracing his calluses with the edge of his fingernail, stroking his knuckles. He would bring Yusuf's hand to his face and kiss the pads of his fingertips, the heel of his palm. Yusuf could only press his stiffening erection into Nicolò’s backside through their layers of clothes and bury his nose in the nape of Nicolò’s neck, trying his best to breathe evenly.

The last night on the road before they reached the city, Nicolò did not content himself with merely kissing Yusuf’s hand. When he brought Yusuf’s hand to his mouth, he pressed the tip of Yusuf’s index finger past his lips and into his mouth, then applied an incredible amount of suction to the digit, sucking it all the way in until his lips met the tender junction of Yusuf’s palm. 

“Nicolò -- fuck --” Yusuf hissed as quietly as he could into Nicolò’s neck.

Nicolò did not let up his assault, only sucked in Yusuf’s middle fingers as well, swirling his tongue around them expertly. Yusuf could feel phantom sensations in his dick, and struggled not to hump Nicolò’s ass. 

Yusuf felt his fingernails catch on the flesh at the top of Nicolò’s mouth, and he tried to withdraw, but Nicolò just held his wrist firmly and sucked harder. Yusuf could feel bits of skin accumulating under his fingernails, so hard were they scraping the roof of Nicolò’s mouth. Yusuf could hear Nicolò’s breathing speeding up in his nose and thought back to what he had said about the pain. Yusuf did his best to relax his hand and let Nicolò take what he needed, only burying his face against Nicolò’s upper back and holding on for dear life. 

After a time, Nicolò gentled the pressure on Yusuf’s fingers, suckling them lightly, almost like a babe. Finally, he withdrew Yusuf’s hand from his mouth entirely and positioned his hand against his throat, moving Yusuf’s thumb and covering his hand with his own. When he felt assured that Yusuf would not move his hand away, Nicolò relaxed and his fingers traced soft patterns over the back of Yusuf’s palm.

Yusuf gave Nicolò’s neck a little squeeze with his thumb and fingers, causing Nicolò’s breath to shudder. Only one more sunrise until he could give Nicolò what he really needed.

* * *

As soon as the door to their room at the inn shut behind them, Nicolò was kicking off his boots and dragging him towards the straw mattress. Yusuf squeezed his hand, then hushed him with a quick peck on the lips.

“The night you told me about your dream, just before we met up with the caravan. Is that what you still want?”

“Yes, Yusuf.”

“You want me to be rough? To make it hurt?”

“Yes, Yusuf.”

Yusuf stroked the hair away from Nicolò’s eyes. “Pain is not a simple presence or absence. There are small pains and great ones. How will I know if it’s too much for you?”

Nicolò pressed his lips together, thinking. “I will tell you.”

“Are you sure? You have struggled with talking, in the past. When you are feeling many things. When I’m inside you.”

Nicolò swallowed. “I will keep my words simple. I will say _more_ or _less_.”

“Alright, habibi.” Yusuf squeezed Nicolò’s hand again. “But we are visiting the baths first.”

* * *

More and less worked very well for them, and soon, they didn’t even need those words. Yusuf studied Nicolò as intently as he always had, and learned his minute tells: the speech in the speed at which he blinked, the calligraphy in the curved angle of his neck, the fluent poetry in the flinch and tremble of his flesh. 

They were cuddling one evening, sweat drying on their skin, Nicolò tracing aimless patterns in Yusuf’s chest hair, when a thought occurred to Yusuf.

“Do you think it might be nice to try it the other way, sometime?”

“The other way?”

“Yes, ah… I so do love it when you take me, darling, and I think I might like to know what it is you experience, when I am rough with you. You look so peaceful.”

Nicolò paused his hand’s movements and sat up to stare down at Yusuf, who could not make out his face in the darkness. Yusuf felt a pang of concern.

“Of course I am satisfied and I don’t need --”

Nicolò brought a finger up to Yusuf’s lips and hushed him. “Wait, my love, I am thinking.”

Nicolò brushed his thumb against Yusuf’s bottom lip and then entangled his hand in Yusuf’s curls. A sliver of moonlight pierced through the gap in the shutters and drew a jagged line of light across their bed, across Yusuf’s face.

“I think I would like that, my heart,” Nicolò said after a long pause. “Yes. I would like to see you that way.”

“Oh?” Yusuf asked, relief breaking out across his face into a joyful, mischievous smile. “My constant longing for you is not enough, you wish to see me even needier?”

Nicolò chuckled and scratched Yusuf’s scalp lightly. 

“You wish to see me brought low for you, Nico?” Yusuf pitched his voice lower, huskier. “You wish to see me begging, darling? Begging for anything, everything, whatever you will give me as long as you give it to me hard?”

“Oh, _Yusuf_.” Their conversation changed to wet and languorous kisses after that.

* * *

Once Yusuf had had a taste of submission in Nicolò’s arms, he could not get enough, and Nicolò, to his own surprise, enjoyed flexing his power over Yusuf just as much as he enjoyed relinquishing his own. Their explorations escalated after that, as they joyfully took their pleasure and fed new sensations and experiences back to each other.

“Perhaps you could gag me next time, dear heart,” Nicolò suggested one evening as they cuddled.

“Mmm, oh? Gag you with what?”

Nicolò cast his eyes about their campsite. “Hm. I don’t know. A stick?”

“What about splinters?” Yusuf asked with a frown and furrowed brow.

“It’s supposed to be uncomfortable, love.”

“No,” answered Yusuf, simply. “Also, I want to kiss you and I don’t want to have to end up chewing on bits of wood.”

“The scabbard of my dagger?” suggested Nicolò.

“Too easy to spit out.”

“Wouldn’t anything be? I suppose you could stuff a rag in my mouth and then tie it off behind my head.”

Yusuf nodded, thinking. “Perhaps we’ve found another use for that shortish bit of rope you hit me with last time.”

“Yes, that should work nicely.”

“Our rags are not very clean, beloved. We will have to wait until we can wash them.”

“Fiiiine,” Nicolò sighed in mock frustration, and Yusuf bit his nose gently. 

Nicolò batted him away. “Not the nose! I need that!”

“Not as much as I need to eat it.” 

“You’re an animal,” Nicolò teased.

“But it’s such a tasty meal!”

Their conversation faded into lazy giggles, followed by sleep. And the first time Yusuf gagged Nicolò, it went well, as did the time after that. The first time Nicolò gagged Yusuf, it went _fantastically_. They did not know what was to come later.

* * *

One foggy evening, in a little-populated region in the Sultanate of Khwarezm, Nicolò found himself in the loft of a barn, pressed into the hay, only his cloak protecting him from the bits of straw poking his face, and Yusuf behind him, pulling his pants down.

“Sir, no, please --” (Nicolò always called Yusuf _sir_ when they were play-acting this way. Yusuf did not enjoy being called his name; he said it felt too realistic. He couldn’t be both _Yusuf_ and a man who would hurt Nicolò. But he could be a nameless stranger.) Nicolò rolled back over and tried to push Yusuf away. “-- Sir, I don’t --”

“Hush,” Yusuf snarled, stuffing a clean rag into Nicolò’s mouth, “We can’t have you waking the shepherd and his family, can we?” When Nicolò tried to spit it out, Yusuf pushed it back in past his lips and clamped his hand over Nicolò’s mouth. 

“Be good for me, little one,” Yusuf purred, and grabbed the length of rope he’d kept close to hand for this purpose. The rope went over the gag, and Yusuf flipped Nicolò roughly onto his front again, tying the ends off tightly behind his head. Nicolò could barely move his tongue, let alone maneuver it enough to spit the rag out. 

He tried to speak, just to hear himself and test the effectiveness of the gag, but the heavily folded wad of cloth muffled the noise. Just the sound of his stifled voice sent a thrill down his spine. He tried to roll back over to see what Yusuf would do.

Yusuf responded by sitting on Nicolò’s legs, just below his ass, pinning him down. He grabbed his shoulder and shoved it into the pile of straw. 

The feel of Yusuf’s body weighing him down thrilled Nicolò as it always did. He sank into the fantasy as Yusuf rucked his tunic up above his waist, struggling perfunctorily just to feel the strength of Yusuf opposing him, to relish the feel of his muscles flexing against Nicolò’s now-bare body. 

Yusuf shifted on top of him to work off his own clothing, and with the change in position, Nicolò felt a rock or something similarly hard buried in the haystack poke him under the ribs.

Nicolò automatically tried to pull away, but couldn’t move with Yusuf’s weight on top of him. He struggled to push against the haystack with his arms -- he only needed to move just a bare inch back to the spot he’d occupied before -- but Yusuf readily grabbed his wrists and yanked them down to pin them at the small of Nicolò’s back. The added pressure made the point of the rock dig in a bit deeper, tearing through the threadbare cloak, and Nicolò felt his skin break on the sharp point.

He tried to tell Yusuf about his new discomfort, but only a muffled grunt came out.

Nicolò’s arousal was flagging rapidly. He was suddenly not in the mood for this game.

Nicolò felt a flash of annoyance run through him -- they had been waiting for this moment for months, waiting for them to both be in the right mood _and_ be near a suitable abandoned building, and now a puny misplaced rock was pulling him out of the moment and _ruining_ it --

He had to tell Yusuf somehow that he didn’t want to do this anymore.

Nicolò began struggling in earnest, pulling his knees underneath him to get some leverage, bowing his back to create some space between him and Yusuf’s body so that he could flip over, but Yusuf’s strong limbs tracked him movement for movement, wrestling and pinning him in place.

Yusuf did not have a spit-soaked rag obstructing his breathing, limiting the amount of air he could suck into his lungs, nor trousers tangling his legs together and trapping him, nor a sharp object cutting into his belly every time he moved. 

Nicolò could not overpower him like this. 

He could not wrestle free. 

Panic swept in, a sinking, churning feeling in his stomach and a tingling in his fingertips.

Yusuf _didn’t know_ , and he was about to do something he was going to regret quite possibly for the rest of eternity, and Nicolò _had_ to escape, he _had_ to protect Yusuf from doing it. A surge of energy rushed into him, and he felt wild all of a sudden, desperate. He twisted like a cat stuck in a net, thrashing, but Yusuf responded by getting an arm around his neck and biting Nicolò’s shoulder viciously.

The feel of Yusuf’s teeth sinking into his flesh did not stoke Nicolò’s fire as it always did. It just hurt, a fierce ache, and Nicolò felt dread collecting heavy as lead in his body, starting with a choking feeling in his throat and filling up his whole body.

The fiery certainty he’d felt, the feeling that he must tell Yusuf and put a stop to this, the motivation that had rushed through his muscles and energized him to try to throw his lover off, rushed away as quickly as it came. Nicolò did not feel excited or aroused, nor even frustrated with the stupid rock. He just felt a sick fear for what was about to happen.

He fell limp, panting through his nose, and tried to think logically through his dilemma. Yusuf kissed the spot he had just bitten. 

“That’s a good boy,” he panted into Nicolò’s ear. “I knew you wanted this.”

An overwhelming sense of irony pushed at Nicolò and he screwed his eyes shut. They had put so much planning and effort into this situation -- into play-acting rape, for Nicolò’s enjoyment -- and now... now it was actually...

Nicolò squeezed his eyes closed to prevent the moisture collecting in them from leaking out. The enormous lump in his throat ached fiercely. He tried once again to calm his breathing. 

In. Out.

Yusuf poured a truly generous amount of oil onto the cleft of Nicolò’s ass, causing Nicolò to shudder at the slippery feel. 

“That’s a good boy,” Yusuf praised.

 _No._ How was Yusuf going to feel, knowing he had said such words? When this was over -- would Yusuf ever be able to say those words again?

Nicolò couldn’t be here for this. He couldn’t listen to those words. He did not want to form these associations with the sensation of Yusuf’s beloved, beautiful fingers roughly pushing into his ass, did not want to remember this moment the next time Yusuf called him good.

Nicolò _couldn’t be here for this._

Nicolò knew he had to distract himself, somehow. 

_I must think about anything else,_ he thought. _I must think of anything except what is actually happening._

He cast about in his mind desperately. 

What had they done earlier that day? 

Nicolò tried to remember his morning. He had awoken to the sound of chirping birds and lain there, silently, while Yusuf snored next to him. He had tried to figure out if it was five birds or four. He had tried to remember if the chirping was a sound he had heard back in Genoa, or if it was particular to the birds of this region.

Yusuf’s rigid cock breached Nicolò suddenly, painfully. Nicolò’s mind jerked back into his body. Yusuf draped his body over Nicolò’s, his full weight pressing Nicolò down and into the straw, driving that thrice-damned stone to dig deeply into his stomach. Yusuf’s hands clasped Nicolò’s wrists on either side of his head and thrust deeply into Nicolò’s tight channel, panting a groan into his ear. 

His lover’s hips started moving. Out, in. Out, in. Violating.

It didn’t feel right. It felt completely, horrifyingly wrong. Like a stabbing in his ass, lancing up into his lower stomach. Or maybe that was just the pain of the stone. Nicolò huffed a pathetic laugh against the wet fabric wadded up in his mouth, but the spit caught in his throat, and the edge of his hysteria turned to coughing. Tremors shook his pinned torso. Nicolò could barely catch his breath. Desperately, he tried to pull air in through his nose, but he couldn’t expand his lungs fully under the weight of Yusuf’s body.

The feeling of dead acceptance evaporated as panic rolled back up into Nicolò from his numb toes and fingers. He flexed weakly, once, twice more, against the trap that Yusuf’s body had become.

Yusuf paused his movements. “Nicolò?” he asked. Nicolò twitched beneath him.

“Nicolò?” Yusuf asked again, his voice suddenly soft and gentle. “Nicolò, darling, are you alright?”

Nicolò shook his head as best as he could against the pile of straw.

“Okay, my love. Okay. I’m pulling out now, baby. Just hang on.”

Nicolò felt Yusuf withdraw, easing the ache in his backside immediately, and then lie down on his side next to Nicolò. Yusuf rolled his body to face him. 

Nicolò blinked his eyes open to find brown eyes filled with worry staring into his own. “I’m going to untie your gag now. Does that sound good, my light?” Nicolò squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, once, his stiff neck aching with tension.

Nicolò felt Yusuf draw himself up into a sitting position so that he could see the back of Nicolò’s head and untie the rope that forced the gag into his mouth. Nicolò spat it out. His mouth felt very strange. 

“Can...can I touch you?”

Nicolò tensed for a moment, thinking through the question, then nodded, slowly. He could feel Yusuf’s legs against his side and the heat of his hands hovering questioningly over Nicolò’s shoulders.

“Fuck. Nico… Do you… Would you _like_ it if I touched you?”

Nicolò nodded again, this time without hesitation.

Yusuf sighed a heavy sigh of relief and pulled Nicolò’s upper body into his lap, stroking his hair. It was nice. For the first time since Yusuf had bitten his shoulder, Nicolò felt the dreadful ache in his throat lessen somewhat.

“Is there anything I can do for you, my darling?”

Nicolò swallowed. He didn’t know how to begin to answer that. He wasn’t even sure what he needed right now. 

“Nicolò, are you okay?” He could hear the tremor in Yusuf’s voice. He was clearly straining to stay calm, to not freak out. _Brave,_ Nicolò thought. _He’s brave._

Nicolò couldn’t form words yet past the lump in his throat. He merely hummed and reached up to hold one of Yusuf’s hands. It was comforting, a reminder that Yusuf was still himself. His hand felt exactly the same as it had just a short hour ago, the last time Nicolò had held it.

Yusuf continued petting his hair slowly and gently with his free hand.

They breathed. Some time passed. 

“I should not have gagged you,” Yusuf murmured.

“I wanted you to,” Nicolò responded.

Yusuf’s hand clenched his own. “It -- it wasn’t safe.”

Nicolò squeezed back. “I told you I wanted it, Yusuf. We’ve done this before.”

“Yes, but --” Yusuf cut himself off. Nicolò could hear the tears creeping into Yusuf’s voice. He paused, for a long time, and when he spoke again, he sounded eerily calm.

“Nicolò. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to say, of course. But. Can you tell me what happened?”

Nicolò’s stomach hurt. It seemed so dumb to say now, all of a sudden. The words did not want to come. “There was a rock,” he choked out.

Yusuf stayed silent, his hand carding ceaselessly through Nicolò’s long hair.

“It was...digging into me. At first, I just wanted to move. Move away from it. But then I couldn’t.”

Nicolò hated how trivial the words sounded, coming out of his mouth.

“I tried to tell you. But I couldn’t speak. And I tried to move, but you held me down.”

Yusuf’s body bent over him then, as if struck in the gut, and a wounded noise escaped his mouth before he choked it back down. Nicolò thought it sounded like nothing so much as a hunted and dying animal, its throat slit mid-keen to spare it from its pain. 

Nicolò wished he could spare Yusuf this pain. But he knew there was no way to escape what had just transpired between them. Certainly not death.

“I didn’t want it any more, Yusuf.”

Nicolò felt a teardrop hit his cheek from above, swiftly followed by another dripping onto the bridge of his nose.

“Nicolò,” Yusuf whispered. “I am so sorry.”

Nicolò squeezed Yusuf’s hand. “I know, darling.”

“I would never have...if I had known --” 

“I know that.” 

“Nicolò -- this is all wrong, you should not be comforting me.”

“I want to. We...we are comforting each other.”

Both of their bodies shook with the force of Yusuf’s strengthening sobs.

“Yusuf,” Nicolò said, a new certainty settling over him. He raised his voice slightly to be sure Yusuf could hear him. “It is not your fault, beloved. You were doing exactly as I had asked of you.”

“I should not. I should not have.”

“ _Yusuf_. Are you saying you do not trust me?”

A horrible, wracking noise echoed in the dark barn. “Breathe, Yusuf. Breathe with me.” Nicolò wiggled to pull his garments up to his waist and wrested himself up out of Yusuf’s lap, trying to prop up his body in the straw. His palm landed on something hard and sharp, and he dug under the cloak until his palm made contact with the hated stone. 

He wished he could squeeze his hand hard enough to crack the stone into dust, wished his immortality came with a fearsome strength to match it. He shoved the stone into their sack so that it would not end up underneath him again and turned to face Yusuf, crossing his legs so that their knees and forehead touched. 

Yusuf’s face was buried in his hands.

“We made a mistake,” Nicolò murmured. 

Yusuf heaved in a deep, shuddering breath.

“ _We_ made a mistake,” Nicolò repeated. “We should not have left ourselves without any way out of that situation. We should not have left me without a way to communicate.”

Yusuf nodded into his hands. An enveloping, smothering blanket of weariness settled over Nicolò’s shoulders.

Nicolò sighed. “Beloved, you asked me what you could do for me.”

At that, Yusuf pulled his hands away from his face so that he could hold Nicolò’s. “Yes. Anything.”

Nicolò drew back so that he could see Yusuf’s face. The barn was dark, but he could see that it was swollen and puffy. His heart hurt to see it.

“I am very tired. Can we sleep now? And continue this conversation later?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

Nicolò leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Yusuf’s mouth. It tasted of salt.

“That is what I want. To drink our water and hold each other and fall asleep.”

Yusuf nodded. “Do you want to sleep here, or somewhere else?”

“Elsewhere,” Nicolò responded, pulling himself to his feet. “Not far, but...not here.” 

Yusuf nodded mutely. They both stood. Hesitantly, as if they might burn him, Yusuf bent to grab the rag, rope, and vial of oil, passing them into their sack, and then tossed his cloak over one shoulder, straw raining down his back. He followed Nicolò down the creaking ladder to the main floor of the barn and out into the night. 

Nicolò walked for several long, silent minutes, wanting to put a nearby stand of trees between them and the barn, so that it was out of his line of sight. Yusuf trailed a couple paces behind him. When he found a suitable spot and collapsed to the ground, he spared a grateful thought that his body could hold no lingering pains, that any damage done by Yusuf or the rock was gone as if it had never happened. 

Nicolo uncorked his water skin and drank deeply, closing his eyes at the welcome feeling of water washing down his throat. He offered it out to Yusuf, who still had not joined him on the ground, before lying back in the grass and closing his eyes. He heard Yusuf set down the haversack and lay out their weapons nearby, but still, Yusuf did not join him. When Nicolò opened his eyes, he was a shadow in the corner of his vision, blotting out a silhouette of the sky some feet away, an uncharacteristic uncertainty in his posture as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Nicolò closed his eyes again. “Hold me?”

“Yes, gladly,” sighed Yusuf gratefully, and, finally, curled up behind Nicolò, wrapping an arm around his side. Nicolò felt he ought to say something, but he was not sure what it was. If their play-acting had gone according to plan, then perhaps right now, Yusuf would be petting Nicolò’s hair, gently combing out tangles with his tapered fingers, while Nicolò reassured Yusuf with his words of how sated Yusuf had made him feel, how desired and wonderful. They would kiss each other languidly, and share with each other their favorite parts of the evening.

Nicolò did not have any favorite parts, tonight, and he knew that neither he nor Yusuf would benefit from him speaking aloud how Yusuf had made him feel, entirely inadvertently. _Weak. Panicked. Sick. Terrified._

Sleep eluded Nicolò and his thoughts drifted until a new sensation permeated his awareness. The back of his tunic was damp and getting wetter, though Yusuf made no sound behind him. 

Sorrow engulfed Nicolò. He covered Yusuf’s hand with his own and wound their fingers together. He didn’t know exactly what to say, it was true, but he could say the most important thing.

“Yusuf.” His voice pierced cleanly through the silence, over the distant noises of nocturnal animals and insects in the countryside. “I love you.” He squeezed Yusuf’s hand.

Yusuf nodded against his back. His forehead pressed against Nicolò’s spine. “I love you, Nicolò,” Yusuf croaked, brokenly. “So much. So much.”

Nicolò’s stomach twisted up in pain and sympathy. “I know. I know that, darling.”

His shirt grew ever damper, still.

“Nothing has changed,” Nicolò offered, after a time, but unlike his earlier words, these rang false on his tongue. He merely wanted them to be true.

The tears soaking through his tunic did not stop. Finally, blessedly, sleep dragged Nicolò under.

* * *

_Yusuf was inside him and he was not stopping. Nicolò gasped in pain around the gag, but instead of breathing in air, he just breathed in more cloth as the rag forced itself down his throat. Yusuf wasn’t stopping. It hurt so much. Surely, he would stop, would stop himself before he spent himself inside Nicolò._

_They were on the road, two fine steeds carrying them to their next destination. A massive pair of birds blocked the way. He couldn’t say how, since there was no resemblance, but Nicolò knew one of them was his sister Giulia. “Mother wants you to come home for the christening, Nico,” she chirped. “I can’t,” Nicolò responded, anxiously. “I’m immortal now. I can’t come home.”_

_The kitchen hearth in their home in Constantinople was a huge mess, soot everywhere. It was multi-colored and indistinguishable from the contents of the pots he’d just dropped. How was Nicolò supposed to separate the soot from the spices? Yusuf had spent much coin on them, and now they were wasted. Nicolò knelt and tried to sift the soot through his fingers. He touched a fingertip to his tongue. It tasted of turmeric and ash._

* * *

Nicolò blinked awake slowly to the dawn light. His back was uncharacteristically cold. Yusuf must have awoken earlier. He rolled onto his back and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Yusuf was sitting cross-legged a few feet away, watching him. He looked very tired.

Memory flashed through him at the sight of Yusuf’s unhappy face, sending a sinking feeling to his stomach as he remembered the events of the prior evening. At least his tunic was dry. He flicked his eyes away from Yusuf’s and got up to rummage through their pack. “We should eat the last of these figs for breakfast, don’t you think? They’re getting mightily bruised in here.”

“I’m not hun --,” Yusuf began, then cut himself off. “Sure,” he said instead, subdued, and held out a hand. Nicolò handed him a fig, but Yusuf made no motion to bite into it.

Nicolò sat in front of him. “Speak to me, dear heart.”

Yusuf hesitated. “Would you -- would you tell me about your dreams last night?”

“My dreams?” Nicolò asked. He thought for a moment. “I don’t remember much. I think my sister Giulia was in one of them, but she was a bird instead of a person. You know how dreams are.”

Yusuf hummed in acknowledgment. There was another long pause while Nicolò ate his fig along with a scrap of bread. They would need to go foraging today. Or maybe fishing would be preferable. Yusuf had gotten quite good with their spear.

“Nicolò, are you certain that is all you can remember?” 

Nicolò met Yusuf’s eyes, searching. “Yes, really. Giulia was alive, and she was a bird. But not a bird-sized bird; she was as big as a horse.”

Yusuf cast his gaze down.

“Why do you ask?” Nicolò caught Yusuf’s bearded chin in his hand and tilted his face upward. “Dear heart…” He swallowed. “We can only get through this if we are honest with each other. Please, just say what is on your mind.”

“You…” Yusuf’s lower lip trembled. “You spoke in your sleep. You were saying ‘no.’ And ‘stop.’” Yusuf’s eyes were red-rimmed. “I’ve given you nightmares, Nico. And it’s nothing compared to what I did to you in truth.”

Nicolò sighed heavily. “You did not mean to. I know this. Even. Even when it was happening…” He took Yusuf’s hands in his own, setting the untouched fig aside. “Even while it was happening, I knew it was not what you wanted. I know you would never want to... to rape me.”

A strange, strangled noise escaped from Yusuf’s throat. “No. No. Never!”

“I knew that, darling. I wanted to stop you so that you would not live with the guilt.”

Yusuf pulled away and dragged a hand down his face. “So that _I_ would not -- Nicolò, this is not about how _I_ feel. _You_ are the one who was hurt! Please! Please think of yourself, for once in your fucking life!” Yusuf’s voice was loud and sharp at the end, and Nicolò flinched minutely. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I should not yell at you. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself.”

“I know,” Nicolò whispered, then looked up at Yusuf, a stubborn cast to his face. “We _both_ erred, Yusuf,” Nicolò said, firmly. Yusuf started shaking his head, but Nicolò grasped his shoulders and shook him, gently. “ _Yes._ We both planned our activities last night. What happened is on both our heads.”

Yusuf stood, abruptly. “This is not what --” He stopped himself and paced. “Nicolò, I was thinking, while you slept. And when you awoke, that confirmed my thoughts.”

“What? Spit it out, Yusuf.”

“I think perhaps --” the confident tone of Yusuf’s voice faltered. “Perhaps you need some time to recover. You should not have to be around me right now.”

“ _What?_ ” 

“Just before you woke, Nicolò. You looked so peaceful.” Yusuf’s face is drawn and somber. “And even when you woke, you were fine. You looked as you always did. Until you saw me. And then... the look on your face. You looked so pained.”

“I had forgotten, for a moment,” Nicolò explained, softly. “I didn’t remember what happened, when I first woke up. I wasn’t pained to see you. I just… remembered.”

“It was the sight of me, Nicolò,” Yusuf responded, a thread of pleading in his voice. “I hurt you. I am your... terrorizer. You should send me away.”

“No!” Nicolò stood to be on a level with Yusuf and shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not, Yusuf. I will _not_ be parted from you, and certainly not now.” Yusuf looked skittish as a rabbit, folded in on himself. Nicolò went up to him and took his shoulders in his hands, giving him another shake. “You think punishing yourself will fix anything? Your leaving will do _nothing_ for me, Yusuf. Tell me you hear me.”

“I hear you,” Yusuf said.

“Do not leave me over this. It would break me. Tell me you understand, Yusuf.”

“I -- Nicolò. I understand.” Yusuf looked as if he might begin to cry again, and Nicolò wrapped him in his arms.

“Yusuf,” he murmured gently, into his lover’s thick hair. “I _was_ your terrorizer, in truth. I came to your lands to hurt you and your people.” Yusuf’s arms around him tightened. “And yet you came to forgive me for this sin, far more premeditated than your own. Your forgiveness is the greatest gift I have ever received. Please do not hold me apart from you. _Please_ do not think yourself unforgivable. Because I already have. I’ve already forgiven you, Yusuf.” As Nicolò said it, he knew it to be true.

“No,” Yusuf moaned into his shoulder, wracking sobs bubbling out of him. “No, Nicolò, please don’t. I can’t accept it.”

“Please, my heart. Please hear me.” Nicolò pulled back enough to cradle Yusuf’s face in his hands and wipe away his tears with his thumbs. “Our situations could have easily been reversed, darling. We would have been just as reckless with our planning, and I could have been the one to take you last night. I could have been the one to violate _you_ , unwittingly, unwillingly.” Yusuf squeezed his eyes shut. “So you see, no matter what, we are in this together. If you damn yourself, we are both damned.” 

“No,” Yusuf whispered.

“Yes. We are both responsible for what happened last night. And I can’t... neither of us can fix it right now. Nor tomorrow, nor this week. Perhaps not even this year. But we have so much time to heal, my love. And if you can’t forgive yourself, please at least tell me that you accept my forgiveness for you.”

Yusuf nodded, tightly. The despair in the lines of his face filled Nicolò with fear.

“Please promise me you won’t leave, Yusuf. That I won’t wake up some morning to find you gone. Not for my own good, not for any reason. I need you at my side.”

Yusuf nodded again, swallowing.

“Promise me. Please.”

“I promise you, Nicolò.” Yusuf opened his eyes and met Nicolò’s gaze. “Will you promise me, in turn, to tell me when you are troubled, even if you are worried about how it will affect me?”

Nicolò nodded, slowly. “Yes.” Yusuf’s face relaxed slightly at that. “May I have your vow of honesty, in return?”

“Yes. You have it,” Yusuf answered.

Nicolò pressed a soft kiss to Yusuf’s lips, his face still cradled in Nicolò’s broad palms, then brought their foreheads together in a gesture of reassurance. They stood like that, together, as the sun burned away the morning dew.

“I have an idea, my love,” Nicolò said, after several long minutes.

“Yes, Nicolò. Anything. I mean it.”

Nicolò released his lover and crouched by their bag to rummage through it. “Dig us a hole?”

Yusuf frowned and cast about for a suitable-looking stick. “How big of a hole?”

“Not too big.” Nicolò rose, something clasped in his fist, and watched Yusuf dig out a small, shallow hole in the soft earth, then joined him to kneel at his side. Yusuf looked at his hand, and Nicolò opened his fingers.

It was the rock. Unremarkable, semi triangular, with a sharp point on one side. 

“I hate this thing,” Nicolò said, levelly, and dropped it into the hole Yusuf had dug. Together, they covered it back up with fistfuls of dirt. 

Then, in sync, they brushed their hands off and stood. Nicolò stamped down on the mound of dirt a few times, flattening it level with the ground. Yusuf retrieved his forgotten fig and pocketed it.

“We’d better replenish our food stores, today,” Nicolò pointed out as he belted on his longsword. Yusuf met his eyes and they shared a long, thoughtful moment in silence, together.

“I think if we head north for a bit, we’ll find that lake we saw from the hilltops two days past,” Yusuf offered, finally. “Probably some tradespeople near the shore. And if not, we can fish.”

“That is a good plan.” Nicolò smiled at Yusuf and held out his hand.

Yusuf took it, and together they headed into the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest thing I have ever written and I am EXTREMELY INTERESTED in hearing any and all thoughts!!!
> 
> If you feel so moved, [you can share on tumblr here](https://fuinixe.tumblr.com/post/641430979047833600/turmeric-and-ash).


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